Some Times The Hall Way

by

Is dark.

But do not worry, worry does no good, there is a light.

Hall Way

Hall Way

There is a light and it beckons me toward it.

I climbed up the last set of stairs and discovered that I had circumnavigated the vast crowds around the museum and slipped in a back entrance to the top terrace of the building.

My host, Michelle, had mentioned in passing that there was a cafe at the top of the museum.

I was beyond grateful to have been made privy to this information.

Whilst she was off leading a guide of the Coliseum, I decided to head toward the cafe, nestled high above the ruins and pressed bold against the blue skies.

I ordered an Americano and found myself a table in the middle of the terrace.  I pulled off my jacket, set down my bag, and took out my notebook, my bag of pens, an Italian journal Maggie had given me and I commenced to write.

A few times I paused and looked out over the ruins below.  My eyes misted, a tear slid down my face, and I felt as though I could just lay my head down upon the table and die of sheer joy and gratitude.

What was I doing here,  on this terrace, in this cafe, doing what I love, writing, in Rome?

I was saying, “yes,” and “yes,” and more “yes.”

I said a lot of yes today.

I spoke in the evening and shared with new friends what led me to this point, being in Rome, my time spent living in Paris, adventures in Burning Man, life in San Francisco, and who I am, every single authentic bit of me.

I swore a little, I laughed a lot, I cried some.

I am an emotional being.

I felt the joy flying through me so often today.

It may have been helped by a few shots of espresso.

Damn the coffee is good here, Paris, you could take a lesson.

I am sitting now in the kitchen of an apartment in Rome where three women live, two Italian ladies and one lovely doll from Southern California and I am listening to the rain fall.

The sunshine decided to not last, but just like the hall way has its light beckoning to me, I know the rain too shall pass.

This too shall pass, I think to myself, this time will go and I will have photographs to look back on and words I wrote in a journal and ticket stubs and post cards and new friendships.

I will have a better perspective on my life and a greater appreciation for my life.

Most of all, I can say I have a life, a life in which I proceed to allow myself to grow in.

Positively.

My new challenge is to set some roots.

Be still for a while.

Let the words continue to come, but let them nestle into a rooted place.

As I was being warmed by the sunshine of Rome I was thinking of the hills of San Francisco and seeing more and more that it is home, it is time to go back to the Bay and to settle down.

I wish to allow myself a home.

I want to grow up and stay put.

I am done running away from myself and I am here, oddly enough in a foreign country sitting at a kitchen table in the apartment of people I just met today, saying I want a home.

I carry home with me, in my bag of pens, in my laptop, in my heart, I go where I am directed and I live a life beyond my wildest dreams.  Yet, I also have a deep desire that I have kept to myself for a long time to be still.  To let these experiences settle out and see what gold there is to be taken from the dross.

I will keep traveling, I do not doubt that in the least, but I want terra firma under my feet and a place to return to.

I want to make San Francisco my base.

I love the journey and I know there will be more to come and more will be revealed, but as I wrap up my Paris adventure, ironically by going off to Rome, I know where home is now.

Home is where I left my heart.

Home is where my fellowship is.

Home is where the hills are not always sunny, often times they are shrouded in fog, but home is there.  I wish to go back and really try to create a pot to piss in.

Or to plant a geranium in.

I do not feel the chagrin I thought I would when I was writing this, I do not feel buyers remorse for having said I am going to travel and write and take photographs and I am running away to Paris to join the circus.

I need to go to the circus.

I hear there’s a good one happening out in the desert in Nevada.

My authentic self is happiest in the Bay.

My travel plans are still writ large and I do not know where I will go next or how I will get there, but I believe it is time to be in one place for a while.

Of course, my plans could change tomorrow, but I feel that I have been softened up, the rough edges have been worn down and as I sat in a cafe in Rome today with my, shhhh, third americano in front of me, I realized I had been polished smooth by these travels and I surrendered to the end of the journey here abroad.

It is time for the prodigal daughter to return home.

With a pocket full of photographs and a bigger heart.

I know this hallway is dark, but I see the blue skies framed beyond the door and I carry with me now my own inner light, a light that I was allowed to bathe in today.

In Rome.

A glow

A glow

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